Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2)

by Richard Weirich

  “Nothin’.”

  “Something is wrong.”

  “I’m OK.”

  Helen grabbed the phone and called Jane Hudson. “Hey, Jane. Let me talk to Lilly.”

  Lilly had indeed noticed his melancholy. “Thought he was just tired or gettin’ sick.”

  Helen waited until supper to bring the issue up in front of Woody. That’s when Dickie broke his silence about the restroom bullying incident and Helen hit the roof. She wouldn’t even let Woody finish his supper. “We’re going to see the principal now.”

  Woody objected, but just like his Christmas tree argument, it was a lost cause. The fact that the school was shut down for the day was not a reasonable excuse. Neither was, “It’s Mr. Dingle’s suppertime.”

  The Principal did talk to them that evening. And, yes, his supper was getting cold. The following morning, Mr. Dingle called Dickie to his office and showed him some pictures of potential suspects. Dickie had often heard of the Principal’s large wooden paddle with holes and, sure enough, there it was…prominently displayed on the desk in front of him.

  “What happens if you catch ‘em?”

  “They’ll get some licks from this,” said Mr. Dingle while pointing to the paddle. “And then they’ll be expelled for a while.”

  Dickie picked up the pictures again and examined them carefully. “Can’t be sure. It all happened so fast.” In reality, the Principal had correctly chosen the boys involved in the melee but Dickie could only imagine that punishing them would lead to more trouble in the future. “No, sir. That’s not them.”

  School is about learning and some lessons aren't found in books or explained by teachers. The bathroom birthday party taught Dickie that it’s best to keep some things to yourself. There are bad people in this world who would like nothing more than to steal your joy.

  Christmas and Easter – March 1955

  Dickie had a revelation and he just had to share it with his parents. He waited until the evening meal to break the news. “Santa Clause isn’t real.”

  “Who told you such a thing,” said his mother, who immediately concluded that some first-grade urchin blabbed the truth.

  “Figured it out on my own.”

  “Is that right?” replied Woody. “And what brought you to this conclusion.”

  “No way that Santa could make it around the world in one night to bring toys to every good boy and girl. Besides, I was playing upstairs and found a bag of new toys on the top shelf in my closet.”

  Helen was afraid that such knowledge would ruin his Christmas. “What do you think about that?”

  “As long as I get that train set, don’t really care where it comes from.”

  Throughout the remainder of the meal, Woody and Helen coached Dickie on the importance of keeping his newly acquired knowledge to himself.

  “Please don’t tell the kids in your class,” said Helen. “I don’t want some angry mama calling me because her child is crying.”

  Woody, was especially proud of his son, for figuring out the mythological tradition on his own. “That’s one smart boy we’ve got there, Helen.”

  Dickie was a compliant child and seldom got into trouble but keeping his newfound knowledge a secret was nearly impossible. It was all he could think about. He knew something the others didn’t. When the final bell rang signaling the end of the school day, he was proud of himself for keeping his mouth shut. But on the ride home, sitting next to Lilly, his best friend, and neighbor, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Santa Clause is make-believe.”

  Lilly didn’t believe him at first but eventually, his logic won out. But then he worried that he had upset her.

  “Nope. Already figured it out myself,” said Lilly. She and Dickie were very competitive and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing something before she knew it.

  Dickie was relieved that he hadn’t stirred up the hornets’ nest that his mother feared. It made him feel so much better to confide in someone he could trust. When they got off the school bus, he reminded her one more time of her promise to keep her lips sealed.

  “Won’t say a word about it,” said Lilly while heading down the path that led to her house.

  When Dickie opened the door, his mother greeted him, just like always. “How was your day?”

  “Good.”

  Based on his response she was comfortable that he had kept the secret about the jolly old elf. She prepared an after school snack that Dickie munched on while finishing his homework. Soon after, the telephone rang.

  Then came a sound that no child wants to hear, especially when they know they have done something they shouldn’t.

  “What?” yelled Helen into the phone. “I told him he wasn’t to say that to anybody.”

  Lilly had blown the whistle. He was wrong that he could trust her and now he was going to get it. Then he heard his mom slam the receiver onto its base and braced himself for the inevitable.

  “Richard Allen, get in here this minute!”

  This was even worse than he thought. She had invoked his first and middle name which never led to anything but trouble. Slowly, with his head hung down in shame, Dickie walked into the kitchen. He could have sworn that his mother was, at least, three feet taller than he had remembered and her hands were firmly planted on her hips. She was in her battle-ready stance, the same one she used when she was mad at his dad. Then she made a statement that he had heard before which he didn’t believe any more than the reality of Santa. “This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.”

  He meekly attempted to put in a good word for himself in hopes of averting her wrath. “I did just like you said. Didn’t tell nobody at school. We were on the school bus. You didn’t say I couldn’t tell my secret on the bus. And Lily said she was OK with it. Didn’t upset her none and promised not to tell her mama.”

  “She didn’t tell her mother. She told Timothy…and he told Jane.”

  It was one thing to tell his secret to a first grader, but he had just destroyed Christmas for a 4-year-old. Dickie felt awful and so did his bottom after Helen wore him out for disobedience.

  Punishment came in two waves. The first had just passed and then came the promise of the second. “Just wait ‘til your daddy gets home.”

  Woody was barely through the door when Helen announced Dickie’s misbehavior. When he heard about the severity of the punishment already meted out, he said it was time to drop it and move on. “How is that any different from you gossiping to your friends? He learned it from you.”

  At least, the focus was now off Dickie as Helen and Woody launched into another one of their loud and heated arguments. Once the yelling stopped, so did all conversation, as they attempted to outlast one another with the silent treatment, a battle which Helen always won.

  By Saturday, December 18, 1954, order had been restored to the Weirich household. It was time to put up the Christmas tree. In previous years, the centerpiece of their holiday decorating went up the day after Thanksgiving, but not this year. Helen wanted to wait until the last minute in hopes that the tree would survive until Buddy’s leave at Easter.

  Behind the Weirich home was a large wooded area where there were numerous cedar trees, one of which would be selected for a place of honor in the dining room. The trip into the forest began as a fun journey but then came the moment of reckoning. Which tree? Woody liked the one that was perfectly round.

  “Not tall enough? Too fat. That one’s better.”

  “The tall tree has too many gaps and it’s crooked.”

  Dickie sat on a stump and waited patiently for the mandatory bickering to end. He didn’t know why his dad didn’t just go ahead and let her have her way. She was going to win the argument, just like always. And…she did and life was good again.

  “We’ll just put the bad side against the wall,” said Helen, happily accepting her victory. “You’ll never see those
gaps.”

  Thirty minutes later the tree lay on the back porch where Woody meticulously affixed the stand to the trunk of the tree and then came the part of the tree decorating routine that Dickie hated. It took Woody seemingly forever to hang the lights on the tree.

  The ornaments and lights were kept in a large wooden crate, packed in perfect order, and removed with extreme care. Since the assortment of Christmas balls and bells were made of glass, Dickie wasn’t allowed to touch them. Even Helen kept her distance, mainly because Woody was maddeningly slow. While he worked, she entertained herself by making snide comments like: “If we’re lucky, you’ll have it ready by next Christmas,” and “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even my husband.”

  The tree had to be perfectly level and turned just the right way. And then came the lights with each strand carefully tested and then placed in perfect symmetry on the tree. Finally, after plugging in the lights and a few readjustments, the next step of the tree lighting ceremony was ready, the hanging of the ornaments.

  Sadly, Dickie watched, wishing he could participate. His involvement wouldn’t come until the lower branches, the ones he could safely reach.

  “Are you ready?” asked Woody.

  “Been ready,” said Dickie.

  Helen cautiously removed a large red ball from the crate. “Be real careful not to drop it.”

  Finally, cause for excitement. Dickie guided the ornament to a place designated by his father. “A little to the right.”

  And then the unthinkable happened. The glass ball slipped through his hands and smashed into a zillion pieces on the floor.

  The heated lecture that followed reduced the well-meaning child to tears. Woody blamed Helen for allowing him to hang the ornament. Helen accused Woody of spoiling Christmas for everybody. Then came another lengthy skirmish to which Dickie responded by running off to his room and pulling the covers over his head.

  Dickie’s reaction caught his parents to realize the error of their ways. Up the stairs, they went, to apologize for their selfish behavior but this time, they encountered a lecture from their son.

  “Christmas is Jesus’ birthday and I’m sure that all your fussing and arguing does not make him happy. Why can’t you all get along? You need to take down that ‘peace on earth’ sign in the living room ‘cause it doesn’t belong in our house. Please take me to Mammaw and Drendaddy’s house and I can have Christmas there.”

  After that, Christmas came and went without further incident. When it was over, the tree remained in place until after Buddy’s leave in March of 1955.

  As Buddy had predicted, this would be a two-week leave since he was about to be transferred to South Korea. He arrived home on March 15 and spent most of his time visiting with old friends, at least, the few who remained. Bobbie Jean was married to Cliff Norris and they had moved away to Tom’s Brook. Mable said that Bobbie had been asking about him at church, but after his run-in with Cliff, he thought it was best not to call her. And Trudy was also off the market. Married a fellow from Harrisonburg where she was now living. In fact, just about the only friends to be found were underclassmen, like Buster Roberts and Elroy Stickley.

  His most accessible friend was his dog, Inky. The two would play for hours and then Buddy would lay on the ground, pet the little black canine, and talk to him like an adult. His mother took exception to laying on the cold ground in the dead of winter. Buddy reminded her that spring was just a few days away, and more importantly, Marines spent a lot of time on the ground in all kinds of weather. She still didn’t like it.

  Occasionally, he sat on a stool in the living room while shining his shoes. It was Mable’s most cherished time. She hung onto every word, remembering all that he said, like stored data on a computer hard drive. One thing he told her was especially meaningful. “I’ve been thinking about going into the ministry. Once I get out of the Corps, I can use the GI Bill to pay for college. Don’t know yet if the government helps with Seminary.”

  His mother was thrilled. Buddy wanted to become a Lutheran minister and he wasn’t looking beyond one enlistment. 1957 seemed a long way off, but now there was light at the end of the tunnel. Yet, something didn’t seem right. He didn't seem his usual cheerful self. “Are you happy?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Buddy.

  “Are you happy?”

  “Happy, about what?”

  “Life, the way it’s going.”

  Buddy didn’t have any trouble understanding the question. He was stalling, searching for an answer. Truthfully, something was eating at him, but he hadn’t been able to identify the problem. Maybe it was the Corps, although he would hate to admit it. He had even prayed about it, but God had not chosen to give him the answer. His ministerial aspiration was really a bargaining tool. Lord, I’ll do this thing for you if you will just heal the hole in my heart.

  “Taking an awful long time to answer my question,” said Mable.

  “I’m sorry. Had something else on my mind. Yeah, I’m happy. Of course, I am.”

  “Are you sure?” she continued to probe. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”

  Buddy chuckled. “Good grief, Mom. The Marines could use you to interrogate enemy prisoners. I’m happy, happy, happy. But I’m not a kid anymore. Live in a grown up world where things are a little more serious.”

  “That they are. I just hate to see you lose that sweet smile and cheerful disposition.”

  “It’s still there. See?” said Buddy as he flashed a big smile which prompted a laugh and the end of the questioning.

  On Saturday, March 19, the family gathered at Helen’s house for Christmas and Easter. Amazingly, the cedar tree still contained most of its needles. Beneath it was a curious combination of Christmas presents wrapped in blue paper with snowmen, red paper with Santa and reindeer, and an Easter basket with colored eggs and a large chocolate Easter Bunny. On the dining table sat Mable’s bunny cake, made with coconut and gummy candy. Next to it, Buddy’s favorite German Chocolate cake and a pecan pie. Happily, much to the relief of everyone, Mable had cooked most of the meal that appeared on the table. Helen stuck to what she did best: cleaning house and handing out orders.

  When the meal was concluded, Buddy opened his Christmas gifts and then Helen directed a photo session utilizing her present to her brother, a new camera.

  “Send us lots of pictures from overseas,” said Helen. “None of us have ever been out of the country.”

  On Saturday the 26th, Buddy walked with Dickie to the Newsstand to pick out the belated birthday gift he had promised. Once in the store, Dickie knew right where to go. All the kids in town knew that the toys were kept in the back of the shop.

  “What can I get?” asked Dickie as he scanned the available choices. He admired a Roy Rogers six-gun holster set and a Davey Crockett coonskin cap. Then he removed a large cylinder of Lincoln Logs from the shelf for a closer look. “No, that’s not what I want.”

  Buddy teased him by holding up a Betsy McCall doll. “How about this? I hear it’s real popular.”

  “No way,” said Dickie, who had spied something that excited him. “Wow. Check this out,” he said as he pulled a wind-up horse and cowboy off the shelf.

  “Crank it up. Let’s see what it can do.”

  Dickie turned the key and seconds later the horse began to gallop while a lasso spun above the cowboy’s head. “Can I get it”?”

  Buddy hesitated and wondered where he had seen that toy before. “Sure. If that’s what you want.” He was still attempting to jog his memory when he stepped up the cash register to pay for the toy.

  A woman stood behind them waiting her turn. Dickie was so excited he struck up a conversation. “That’s my Uncle Buddy. He’s a Marine. Grew up, right here in Strasburg.”

  “Of course, I know Charles Polk. Tried to teach him, French.”

  Buddy turned around when he recognized the voice of Patricia Stover. “Miss Stover, how are you?”
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br />   “Wondered how you were doing. What’s it been, two years?”

  “Yes, mam,” said Buddy, pulling money from his wallet. While waiting for his change, he could feel his face turning red from embarrassment. He had a sinking feeling that maybe she knew about the crush he used to have on her. When he vacated his place in line and she stepped forward, he was reminded of why he was crazy about her. She was still the loveliest lady he had ever seen. “Guess you’re still teaching.”

  “Got to. Only thing I know how to do. Where are you stationed?”

  “For now, in California but they’re getting ready to send me to Korea.”

  “Don’t expect French will do you much good over there,” said Miss Stover while handing money to the store clerk.

  “No, mam. But you never know, might come in handy someday. Oh, pardon my manners. This is my nephew, Dickie. Dickie this is Miss Stover, the French teacher at the high school.”

  “I know you,” Dickie proudly proclaimed.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, mam. Mamaw told me about you. Said that Buddy was in love with you.”

  “Is that right?”

  Buddy quickly intervened. “Miss Stover is a teacher. Mama must have been talking about somebody else.”

  Dickie wasn’t going to leave it alone. “She said it was the French teacher. I wouldn’t forget something like that.”

  “Kids,” laughed Buddy nervously.

  Miss Stover changed the subject. “Do you have a picture of you in your uniform?”

  He had one, alright. Wallet sized version of the one hanging on the wall in his parent’s living room. Buddy was humble and modest, but he wasn’t stupid. That picture showed him at his very best. Why not test it out on his old heartthrob?

  She looked at the photograph, started to hand it back, and then looked at it again. “Really nice. You look real nice.”

  Buddy wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Just nice? “Good to see you again, Miss Stover.”